He shakes his head. “Probably not as long as we’re not too loud.”
I turn onto my side. “I can whisper.”
“Me too.” He mirrors my position.
Our fingers tangle. I use my other hand to stroke his temple, cheek, and jaw. I love the feel of his stubble against my skin.
“Do you think Hendrix was serious about babysitting?” Callan asks.
“Who knows? Why?”
“I thought…maybe…he could…and then we could…” He swallows.
“Could…what?”
“Play with feathers.”
I smile. “I’d like that.”
“Do you think they’d turn me on the way the wax did?”
I shrug. “Maybe. I can’t predict how you might react. Would it be a problem if it did?”
“I don’t think so. Not if it was just the two of us.”
“It would be.”
He blows out a breath and smiles nervously. “Good.” His stare holds mine.
“Tell me what you want, Cal.”
“Right now?”
”Yes.”
“To be close to you,” he stammers. “I’m not sure what that looks like, though, especially with a baby in the room.”
“I think it would be all right if we took our tops off and got under the covers, don’t you?”
Callan nods hesitantly. “Yes.”
We sit, remove our T-shirts, and then push the quilt down so we can pull it back over ourselves. We end up closer together, our chests almost touching.
I loop my ankle over his calf. “Is this okay?”
“Yes.”
We kiss for a few moments, but weariness quickly settles over me. I’m not used to waking up in the middle of the night. My heavy eyes close, and I begin to drift into darkness.
Aidan’s hungry cry pierces through the haze of sleep. I grunt awake. Callan is already in the process of getting up. He’s turned a lamp on, which bathes the room in a soft golden glow. He picks Aidan up and hugs him to his chest. He looks gorgeous as he holds his son. Aidan doesn’t stop crying.
“I’ll get him a bottle,” Callan says. “Go back to sleep.”
“If you’re up. I’m up.”
He laughs. “Stubborn eejit. I’m pretty sure parents would take nighttime feeds in turns.” His eyes widen. “Fuck. Sorry.”
“For what?”
